Everyone Has a Secret
by spicea11347
Summary: Everyone has a secret. So, what's Noelle Burks? What has she gotten herself involved in that required hiring an odd group to protect her. What is she hidding? Eventually Guerrero and OC


**Okay, so, more so than normal, I've been obsessing over Human Target and Guerrero and I was rather disappointed with how little fanfics there are just in general. So, here I am writing one of my own. I hope you all do enjoy. And review! Enjoy and review, yes. Reviews make the world go round, right?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character from Human Target or the show, if I did... Sorry, I was imagining what kind of world we would live in if that happened XD Anway, I don't own it, just Noelle Burks.**

**By the way, if you have any ideas/questions on Noelle please ask, they'll help me shape her more.**

_Chapter 1: Tapping, Chow Mein, and Microbiologists... what?_

Clicking and tapping. The only noises that echoed through an almost loft. The noises were coming from the only two inhabitants at the moment. The clicking came from a man with light brown hair and full moon glasses that covered his piercing blue eyes as his fingers flew across the keyboard of his laptop. The tapping, from a girl who sat across from him as she found entertainment in tapping her fingers against the glass table in a rhythmic way. But, no matter how rhythmic it was it was beginning to get on the man's already irritated nerves. For a few minutes, the brunette woman succeed in getting away with the annoying sound without having a bullet placed in her skull, but her time was running out quickly.

"Stop," it was the first word uttered from the man for quite awhile and it startled the woman enough to stop the tapping by chance.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and resuming her tapping with only two fingers instead of the four she had used earlier.

A clear frown found the man's face – drawn to it like a magnet – as is eyes lifted up from the screen and narrowed at the woman. His typing had ceased by now and he was just watching her. He was wondering if she was just trying to get on his nerves, or was she honestly that oblivious. When she showed no grin or smirk to inform the man she was purposefully doing it, the frown worsened and his hand shot out and squashed her own hand under it. He applied enough pressure to have her petite hand lay flat on the table, but not to hurt her. He promised Chance he wouldn't harm her.

Her blue-green eyes widened for a moment, again surprised by the man; this time it was due to his lightening fast movements. She hadn't expected those kinds of movements from a man who looked the way he did.

"Stop that tapping," he stated before removing his hand from hers and returning to typing on his laptop.

When there was a slight movement from across from him, the man glanced up over the rim of his glasses and saw her mouth formed a slight 'O' shape. She knew what he was talking about now.

The woman moved both her hands up and laced them under her chin; she never noticed when she started to tap her fingers, it was an unconscious habit. The woman settled for sitting in that manner watching the man work. What he was doing, she hadn't the slightest clue. Though, she was a smart woman, so she figured he was finding information on who hired the men who are trying to kill her, and keeping the other man – Chance, he said his name was – off any surveillance cameras. Chance had dropped her off a little over an hour ago to go find someone. For what, again, she didn't know. They really didn't let her in on much, even though it did concern her life.

After a moment her hands unlaced and one ran over her hair, but had to stop short due to the bun at the back of her head held up with a pair of chopsticks. A soft sigh escaped her lips, before she stood from her seat and began to wander. Her feet made almost no sound as she walked, because she had taken off her heels – more like torture devices – earlier. She was a never a fan of them, but they were intimidating towards other women. For women, it was almost like there was an unwritten law that included anyone who could wear heels like hers, demanded respect. Not only that, but the way she wore them, the way she walked with them that just oozed her confidence in her sexuality, made women not as confident in their own.

Wandering around, she found herself in the kitchen of the loft and a bright smile instantly found its place on her face. She opened up the fridge without a second of hesitation. Glancing at its contents for a moment, she realized it was all Chinese food with the occasional piece of fruit and a carton of milk, and a case of Dr. Pepper. Her smile turned into a smirk as she grabbed a soda can, and a carton of what she presumed was Chow Mein, judging on its smell. Now all she needed was some sort of utensils and the first ones she came across was a pair of chop sticks. She raised one of her – according to some of her friends – well sculpted eyebrows before she shrugged her shoulders and picked them up. With a satisfied smile at the fact she finally had food, she made her way back to the – what she at least assumed was – living room.

The man was still there, in the same spot. It seemed like he hadn't moved an inch, but the woman could have been wrong. She sat on the armrest of the armchair he was in. She placed the Dr. Pepper on the glass table after having opened it and taking a sip. Her olive hands opened up the carton of food and began to eat with the chop sticks, all the while watching the man work. She was intrigued by what he did for the group. Though she had a slight knack for reading people, she couldn't really pinpoint anything about him, except he was a complete mystery. The man from earlier, Chance, seemed like he was trying to pay a dept, or right a wrong. He did things that were natural for him in an unnatural way. She was able to see how he fought. He was good. Better than good actually, and though she had a few years of fighting under her own belt, she would never want to be his opponent. But, his fighting wasn't exactly a style you teach. It's something that's picked up and manipulated per person. A unique style yet not. It seemed like a mixture of marine fighting and street fighting all rolled into one person. She had a lot of hunches about the man, none of which she would voice. There was another man from earlier. A large, African American man who had manners and seemed very different than his colleagues. Her observant eyes had seen the gun, so she added up the two variables. He was more than likely some type of law enforcement, or was. But this guy, sitting in the armchair, typing away on the laptop, she couldn't pinpoint much. She figured he was more than capable of hacking almost anything. She saw the way his eyes scanned files quickly, and how his fingers moved even faster; this indicated to the girl, he'd been doing this a long time. But that was all she could tell at the moment. She didn't see any obvious weapon, or see him fight, so she couldn't make any more inferences. So, deciding it was a useless battle, she gave up trying to figure out the man for the time being and continued eating her food.

"You know that's Winston's, right dude?" the man asked the woman, causing her to look down at him; his eyes had yet to avert from the screen, she guessed he saw her walk in with it.

"Two things. One, I'm a guest. Anything in the fridge is fair game, besides he never said I couldn't have any, now did he? And two, I'm not a dude, I have lady parts," she stated easily with a smirk as she watched for his reaction to such an odd come back.

From her view she could see a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips which caused one to appear on her own face, "So, what's your name? We never had a proper introduction when Chance just dropped me off."

There was the slightest hesitation that didn't go unnoticed by the woman, "You first."

Raising an eyebrow she gave the back of his head a look that obviously stated, you-should-know, and she voiced this "I'm your client. Aren't you supposed to know that kind of information?"

"Wasn't really informed, dude. Chance told me he needed me to do something for him, and here I am," he explained easily, deciding to finally face the woman, which was a bad idea on his part.

When he turned his head, the first sight he was met with was the woman's partially exposed thighs. Her left leg was crossed over her right, and the skirt she was wearing – it flared out, giving a natural look to it when she walked – had ridded up her leg and instead of resting an inch above her knee, it rested a good four or five inches higher. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow as his piercing blue eyes slowly traveled up her body. His eyes only stopped twice on their journey. The first time was when he reached her chest which was only covered by a red cami – where exactly did she work to allow her to dress like that? For a few seconds his eyes lingered on her large chest, before, finally, moving up towards her eyes. He was expecting to either see an appalled or angry client. He was met with neither. All she did was raise an eyebrow as the right side of her mouth twitched into a smirk.

"You see something you like then?" she asked before a full blown smile found her face, allowing the man to see the woman's dimples.

He didn't answer, but raised an eyebrow and the woman saw a glint in his eyes that spoke loud enough, "My name's Noelle. Noelle Burks. So, this brings me back to my question, who are you?"

"Guerrero," was his short response.

Noelle didn't know if Guerrero was his first name, last name, or just an alias. She wouldn't put it past someone like him – or Chance – but she decided not to ask or press further into the matter, for the moment. Noelle was a very curious person by nature, and she would find out, sooner or later, some way or another. They stared at each other for awhile as each thought about something different.

Finally, Guerrero, surprisingly, broke the silence with a question, "What do you do?"

The brunette pulled herself out of her thoughts and instantly answered, "I'm a microbiologist. I work for Bio Tech. Industries. I'm good at what I do."

"What exactly do you do as a microbiologist?" he asked raising an eyebrow; he did need information on the client so he could run background on her, and it helps knowing something about her to find the people who are trying to kill her.

"Well I work with a lot of bacteria and viruses and I'm figuring out how they react to the environment and how the environment reacts to it. Said bacteria and viruses are genetically mutated or the most extreme cases we can get our hands on. I work on a different level than most of the other microbiologists," she explained in very vague details; Guerrero wasn't going to have any that, but he didn't have a choice.

At that moment, the other two of the little renegade group came walking in through the elevator. The first thing the man known as Winston saw was the box of Chow Mein on the table – Noelle had set it down when she began to explain her involvement in Bio Tech. His jaw clenched and his eyes locked on Guerrero.

"Guerrero," he growled out in a low manner.

Raising his hands up in a fake 'surrender', the accused man replied, "Dude, it wasn't me this time."

"Sorry Winston. I was starving and you guys pulled me away before I could have a chance to eat anything," the brunette explained with a guilt filled look.

As Guerrero examined this look, he smirked. She was a great actress. That was good, and bad.

"You have any idea who might try to kill you Noelle?" Chance asked, trying to avert the conversation away from the Chow Mein.

For a second or two, the woman didn't answer. But as those few seconds passed, she looked up at him with sorrowful eyes – and Guerrero believe it to be genuine – and a soft smile.

"Yes and no. There are a lot of people. Some I know, some I don't."


End file.
